


Val Royeaux Miracle Examiners

by Nedrika



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, バチカン奇跡調査官 | Vatican Kiseki Chousakan | Vatican Miracle Examiner (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Blood Magic, Demons, Episode Remix, Gen, Murder, mention of canon illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22146403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nedrika/pseuds/Nedrika
Summary: The Chantry dispatches two of its best Seekers to investigate claims of a priest with Maker-given prophecies and healing abilities.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4
Collections: New Year's Resolutions 2020





	Val Royeaux Miracle Examiners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonster/gifts).



9:32 Dragon

The Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux was the same as ever when Hiraga and Roberto returned from their latest mission. The polished alabaster and marble shone bright in the sunlight, glimmering with the love of the Maker, as his Chant sang out through the halls and courtyards with such force it could be heard from every part of the complex and through any number of doors.

It was as beautiful as it was intimidating, with the heavily armoured Templars that studded the Cathedral glittering even brighter, their bright shield bosses and sword hilts just as difficult to miss as the hymns.

It made Roberto nervous every time they had to return, although Hiraga innocently went around his duties as if the martial presence wasn't there. Watching him behave normally helped Roberto pretend that this is normal as well.

He didn't feel completely at ease until they were back in Seeker Saul's office, alone as far as he could tell, and facing the now familiar glare of the old man across the desk from them.

"Congratulations on another task well done, Brothers. By exposing these false relics we can help quell the flood of charlatans capitalising on the panic of those displaced by the blight and their devotion to Andraste to fleece them of what little they have left. Good!

"Don't rest for too long though, brothers, there's a new case waiting for you in the Frostbacks. There's been talk out there of a prophet, recently returned from the dead,, who's having accurate visions of the future that he claims are given to him by Andraste. It's all attracting quite a following, and we need to be quick if we're to announce them a legitimate Chantry or a heretical cult. Now, go and do the Maker's work!"

They bowed at left without comment, the heavy oak door thunking closed behind them.

"It's got to be more interesting than Andraste's toe bone, at least."

"Roberto!" Hiraga cried, although he was smiling too hard to be a very effective deterrent. "I suppose it's all fine now that we know it was from a nug, but you need to be careful around here."

"Sure, sure," he said, determined to preserve the air of normalcy. "It all wasn't even nearly as interesting as the Sister with the visions from a couple of years ago, anyway."

"We never did come to a decision about her," Hiraga reflected. "You don't think its the same woman as the one in all the news from Ferelden, do you?"

"Can't be," he said, and was mostly sure of himself.

The Frostbacks were bitterly cold, and all the layers that they could fit underneath their robes were doing far too little to stifle the shivers and chattering teeth that had followed them up the mountain, and had nothing to do with the chill that settled in Roberto's bones when they found the bones.

"It's Avvar land, right, Roberto? This could be one of theirs."

"No, this is wrong," he said in complete certainty. "They practice air burials, which this looks like, and the limbs have been arranged in the right way for it - at least as I can tell what with the animal disturbance - but it doesn't follow their rules."

"Rules?"

He knelt down by the pile of scraps to pick up a femur, turning it over to look at the scrapes and bites near the neck.

"The bones have been dismembered in the right places but the tool marks are too wide for the saws the Sky Watchers use, and the placement doesn't make any sense. This is out in the open on the mountainside where any wolf could have a go. It should be within their village, on a clean surface rather than this impacted mud, where they can police the scavengers so that only the carrion birds can take the pieces away to the Lady. This would be close to sacrilege."

Hiraga knelt next to him and scrutinised the badly-chewed pelvis that sat a few feet away from them before picking up an ulna and snapping it cleanly in half.

"It's a woman, although without a skull I can't guess her race. She might have been late in a pregnancy, but there aren't any foetal bones that I can see in the ones around here."

Roberto stood and smoothed the creases that had worked their ways into heavy cloth.

"This isn't our case, Hiraga. It's best that we let the village know and they can look into it rather than poke our nose where it isn't wanted or authorised."

Hiraga stood alongside him, nodding agreement, but the sight of bones scattered across the ground followed them long after they had officially handed off the responsibility.

Hiraga couldn't help but be struck by the layout of the town, a beautiful place that seemed bustling and happy, the main road heaving with traffic as it curled towards the tall white building at its centre, the streets gently streaming people with a planned efficacy that was missing from any other town he'd visited, and the houses taller and more sturdy than anything seen outside of the largest Orlesian cities. It was a stark contrast from the hovels and shacks they'd seen in the little hamlets on the trail up from the Redcliffe road, and they were drawn to the high arches at the centre before they ever heard the sweet tones of the Chant that spilled from it.

It was a beautiful voice, soaring and clear, and approaching the climax of the Canticle of Apotheosis - verses that he held particularly close to his heart so that he couldn't help but burst through the door to approach the source, Roberto trailing behind him.

The door was heavy and noisy, but the voice continued even as he hoisted himself into the nave; it issued from a slight figure next to the altar, dressed in the muted robes of a lay brother that paled in contrast to the shock of bright white hair that spilled across his shoulders.

Hiraga rushed up to the figure to hear the enchanting music more clearly, but the loud footfalls seemed to finally draw attention to his approach and the figure turned, striking green eyes meeting his with an expression of supreme tolerance. It was a beautiful face, delicate in a way he barely saw outside of the elves, and the sublime singing combined with the charity of his manner brought words to his lips in a rush.

"Apotheosis 2:16? That's one of the most beautiful renditions I've ever heard, you're surely blessed by the Maker!"

The brother bowed his head in humility.

"It's a simple prayer for one of our congregation we were treating in the Infirmary, we lost them last night."

"Ah, apologies!" he stammered, pulling himself up short. "Please excuse me, and continue."

"Thank you," the brother said, turning back to the altar, "although I always preferred Erudition myself."

Roberto appeared at his shoulder sometime through the recital, although he was too wrapped up in that ethereal voice to notice exactly when.

The Chantry rang with the echoes when the passage was finished.

The brother turned to him and extended his hand, which Hiraga shook eagerly.

"I'm Brother Julia, and this is Brother Samson," he said, gesturing to a robed man who stood from the bench where he'd been listening to the Chant.

"Brother Hiraga, Brother Roberto," he supplied in turn, gesturing between them.

"We're from the Grand Cathedral," Roberto chipped in, "a subset of the Seekers involved in verifying the miraculous works of the Maker so they can be extolled by the Chantry at large."

"We've been expecting you," Samuel said, shaking Roberto's hand with a warm smile. "Father Jordan is the real deal, you'll see. If you want to leave your travel equipment by the door I'll happily show you to them now, if you'd like?"

"I'll take my leave, in that case," Julia said in a low voice. "There are still invalids that need my care."

The three of them processed out after much fussing with bags, Roberto and Hiraga shoulder to shoulder as Samson led a few steps ahead.

"An all male Chantry, with a Father? Doesn't that strike you as odd?" Hiraga whispered

"Val Royeaux won't like it, that's for sure, but that doesn't mean they're invalid. May explain why they've failed to seek official permission for the chapter."

Father Jordan looked to be frail but intact when they lit the lantern above his bed, his skin pale and drawn but his breathing even. Hiraga knelt to his side to take his pulse and pupillary responses, which were slower than he would have hoped but within normal ranges. It was his skin which worried him, clammy and cool to the touch in a way that unsettled something in his core and he backed away quickly.

"Could you tell me what happened to the Father?" Roberto asked Samuel, who was standing calmly in the corner of the room to let them work. There was a caginess, a stiffness to Roberto that he wasn't used to, but it was subtle; caught only because they knew each other so well.

"He really should be dead," the man responded calmly. "He was up on the main balcony, teaching the ways of the Chant to the people and recounting the prophecies still to pass, when one of the girders gave and he fell forty feet, twisting as he did to hit his spine. We all thought he would be long gone, but with time, Andraste's favour and the tending of Brother Julia he's well on the way to being mended. I'm sorry that he's resting just now, he's been up and about more these days, even talking about taking sermons again!"

Hiraga nodded absently as he turned his attention to the room; unremarkable and unadorned aside from the large and comfortable bed, bare walls studded with glowstones that shone almost green against the daylight from the large window.

"Thank you for letting us see him, we won't trouble him any more," he said.

Roberto moved closer to the door at his cue and extended an arm in invitation.

"Is there anyone around who could explain the Father's prophecies to us in more detail?"

Kid Goldman was a strange egg, thin and birdlike but possessed of an evangelical enthusiasm that was rarely seen outside of the missionaries. He presented them with a sheaf of hundreds of sheets of paper, loosely held together with bright red wool and well worn, and the same tired rhetoric that they'd heard from dozens of other chancers hawking relics or lost and forgotten chants. The prophecies were more convincing than the character recounting them, with some of the finer details of Orlesian politics in 9:31 far beyond what someone who wasn't entrenched in the high walls of Val Royeaux could have possibly known and even they had only experienced through luck. They were dated meticulously a month beforehand, and perfectly matched the rumours that had been reported to the Chantry well before they eventually came true. Again they were proven true in the exact locations of several maleficarum that had been spotted around the Korcari wilds after the Blight had retracted and a list of the accusations at the landsmeet that could never have travelled across Ferelden in time for the annotated date.

There were a few dated into the future, years ahead and set amongst the Gallows in Kirkwall and an uncommonly vague description of an upset in the Frostbacks in the "near future," which stood out against the litany of certainties.

One was dated a few days before, and told of a white wall in the far north that would scatter the griffons. He passed it to Roberto, whose expression tightened just a fraction before Kid snatched it back in triumph.

"Ah! The news of this one will reach us soon!" His eyes narrowed conspiratorially. "We tried to send them word beforehand, through some of my dwarven contacts, but they didn't seem too interested in hearing the plans of the Maker. A shame," he said with a shake of his head and no remorse, "a real shame. I can only hope they saw the truth."

Hiraga bowed his to the papers in his hands, and his voice was barely above a whisper.

"You don't feel that it isn't our place to know the Maker's plans? That we shouldn't have faith in it without knowledge?"

Even if it were true, unlike all the visions and prophecies they had seen before it still felt blasphemous to have such power, and such an ability to meddle where they should be slaves to His will.

"If He has allowed us to peek at his hand, why should we question it? He's chosen Jordan to deliver his wisdom, and it would be more presumptive to assume that we understand His methods."

"These prophecies are to benefit us - they let us see the Maker's hand in action, and come closer to him. The true faith, one that the Father has the strength to maintain but I am insufficient for, is having the faith to hold true to the visions and not try to meddle in them. I've tried, although I've never yet managed to avoid any of the terrible things they've described. The prophecies told us that you would come to us, and how you would leave us, and when it comes true there will be no denying him."

"Oh?" Roberto raised an eyebrow.

"That two strangers would come to us with questions and doubting hearts," Kid told them, eyes glowing with conviction. "One would see the light of the prophecies and their maker, the other would reject our wisdom and death would follow him, and take its due by sundown on the first day of Satinalia."

A stubborn reticence settled in his gut while Hiraga bristled beside him.

"Tomorrow."

Hiraga was exhausted by the time they got all of their things up to their shared room and began to unpack, the place deathly quiet through the thick stone walls. 

"I spoke to Lauren through the sending stone," he said, unpacking the coloured phials and intricately delicate mage-finding Templar tools from the soft woolen padding of his case. "There was an avalanche in Weisshaupt two days ago, the news of it is only just reaching the Cathedral. There's no way they have sending stones enough to be getting news from all over Thedas, and they repeatedly have put the word out before these things happened."

"Nothing from the Wardens about being warned beforehand?"

"No, but they would never tell the Chantry anything of that ilk anyway. It's more unsettling that they had details of Ostagar that only the Warden-Commander's party knew before the landsmeet."

"That smacks of having a hand in it, or a spy in the Warden's group, as well as better bards than any in Orlais to have the cream of the Palace gossip."

"Or they really do have some way to glimpse the Maker's plan."

It was an unsettling thought, and Roberto stilled, arched over his own luggage with the tension buzzing between them. If it were true it would have ramifications for all the faithful.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, with Roberto stowing himself in the church library, which promised to be well stocked with strange and rare volumes for being such a new and far-flung community, but his eyes had lit up the moment he spotted a previously unknown volume on observations of the rituals of the Avvar, and any further conversation had been almost impossible.

He'd found himself out in the infirmary with Julia, whose medical equipment seemed new and effective, but hardly a massive improvement over what was immediately available, and certainly not enough to explain the marvel they'd managed with the recovery of Jordan. They had been missing a few of the more difficult to procure potions, but between what they had and the materials that he'd taken with him they were able to counter most of their gaps. The main improvement was the presence of Julia himself; he was gentle and caring with the patients in a way that spoke of both a genuine empathy and a patience and assurance that they were worth his time. It was inspiring to watch the combination of good medicine, careful bedside manner and unerring faith that Andraste would keep them all healthy, and everyone in the infirmary clearly looked up to and respected him as a role model. There were a few of them who looked to him with such reverence that he could well believe that their prayers were addressed more to Julia than they should be. 

They were almost finished with their rounds when Julia wobbled and then collapsed to one knee, and his robe slipped just enough to show the tips of wide red welts across his nape. 

"You discipline yourself?" he asked, reaching out quietly to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Can I get you any ointment for it?"

"It's for the woman we lost last night; she was getting so much better and I should have been able to..." Julia flinched into himself. "I don't need anything for it, the ache is my punishment as much of the lash. It reminds me of my sin, and Maferath's sin that lives in me."

He stooped to take Julia's hand and lift him to his feet, heart rending on seeing the soft grief in his features. It seemed as though he had taken on all the misery in the town, and that he was somehow strong enough to carry them all by himself. It made sense, that they would look up to him as they did.

It only made him more curious as to the sort of person that Father Jordan would be when animate, that he could command the loyalty of such a singular disciple, and whether there could indeed be an element of the Divine to the work they were doing, out in the wastes of the Frostbacks.

The library was incredible, and far beyond anything that would belong to the simple Chantry reference materials he had expected to find in this backwater. There were books on magic from outside the Circles, as well as some very obscure histories of the martyrs, and one volume had seemed like an already scandalous history of the Black Divine, but had in fact been carved out to hide pages of instruction on blood magic of a design typical to Tevinter. Some of the spines were in a text he couldn't even read, languages he'd never seen.

It was a strange mix of incredibly niche, devout texts among striking blasphemy, and it brought up a lot of questions: were these used by Jordan; where had he managed to source such rare books; and most worryingly, why had he been trusted to see and recognise them? 

It felt wrong, and his skin crawled at the thought that he'd set himself up with his own predictable craving for knowledge. He clapped the book in his hand shut with a cloud of dust, and tried to think through the chances that this particular blend of disconcerting knowledge could have a perfectly innocent reason, but there was nothing.

He stood sharply, and all the blood rushed from his head. He staggered, woozy, and fell to the cold floor.

When he woke the world was warping around him, the light in the room a sickly puce and the surfaces of the little library moving in bright rivers as though coated in oil. The air stank of lyrium, and fear found him. Either he was in the centre of an intense magical ritual or he was dreaming in the Fade.

There was a liquid fog roiling in from the door; slowly it grew pulsed around the room until he was worried he would breathe it in before a thin whisper issued from the mist.

"Well then. It's been a long time since I've had a Seeker fall into my lap."

"Demon," he greeted the thing brusquely, pulling himself upright and casting about for the door, hidden beyond the humming magic circle around him. 

"Don't be like that, Seeker. We could make such a good team; with your position and my wiles we could be unstoppable."

"I wouldn't waste the effort, demon. You won't win me over like that."

"So hasty! But you forget that we have ways that you could never duplicate, and we can make people forget. Your history would be nothing, all those dreams of your own research group going into the ruins would be within your grasp, and I know all the best hunting grounds."

"You're talking about controlling the highest eschelons of the Chantry; you're filth. No."

"What about knowledge that you could only dream of, delivered straight to you from the deepest corners of the Fade. Books from before Arlathan, descriptions of the Golden City from the Imperium, demons and spirits that can whisper the secrets of the Maker directly into your ears, reveal all the secrets of your so-called faith to you."

He ground his teeth at the assumption but kept quiet, determined not to let it have the satisfaction of his refusal, instead rising to his feet and pacing about, his fingers testing the wards for any imperfections.

"Or, I could give you your closest companion as you'd never hoped to have him," the mist purred, "Hiraga's a man, even for all his clergy robes, and he wants you to know him."

"You leave him out of it!" he snapped, flailing a fist through the vapour. "He deserves better, and you've no power over a man who's faith in Andraste is as beautiful and pure as his is. He won't be fooled by you, and you can't use him to get to me."

The anger burned righteously in him, impotent against the formless threat that chuckled around him. It swirled about him, the vague shape of a materialising as a silhouette in the centre of the room before the magic flashed bright and he fell away, unconscious.

He woke up in the hall, Hiraga cradling his head in his lap as he gently tipped a bitter potion between his lips. He coughed against the acidic aftertaste of spirit shards, and his brow was pressed a little tighter.

"It's okay, you're safe," Hiraga whispered as glass clattered somewhere. "The hex knocked you out when I forced the door open, but it was a short term booby trap, nothing permanent."

He was still fuzzy, but he dragged himself free and onto his elbows.

"There was a demon. Desire, I think. Tried to bargain with me, sounds like there's a bigger plan in place."

Hiraga only hummed in response. 

"They found Samson a little while ago. It's why I was coming to get you; he's been killed. I was nearby and went to see without you, sorry."

"S'fine."

"There's blood everywhere. Human, from the phylactery equipment I tested it on when I got the second armful of Lauren's restoratives for you. I'll test it against his body to see if it's his own, but there's too little there for the wounds he sustained. It looked deliberate, ritualistic. His head was mounted on Andraste's sword." 

Roberto groaned and pushed off Hiraga's thighs to stand upright, the world slowly clearing around him.

"Right. Let's go take a look."

Roberto was drawn away from the grisly crimescene by the clamouring of the Chantry congregation, loud in the dark of the night. Goldman was onstage, waving his frail arms in wide motions as he expounded the new prophet as said visionary stood beside him.

Jordan looked shockingly well, back straight and eyes piercing as he listened to his many great deeds. The resemblance that he'd caught on when he first saw the frail invalid was now irrefutable as life filled out his skin. 

He sucked in a breath, said a brief prayer, and strode alone onto the stage.

"These are no prophecies. I'm proof; I'm alive, under no sort of demonic possession, and the sun has long set."

Goldman whirled to him, face a mask of carefully contained rage.

"Samson is dead in your place, you brought evil to this sanctum."

"He's dead in a blood magic ritual," Roberto said, relishing the wave of whispers and gasps that rippled throughout the pews. "You tried your best with me as well, dusting the pages of the library books in lyrium and sedative to make me more complacent. The veil is thin here, it's got the entire town under its sway to some level or another."

Now the whispers were louder waves, crashing against each other.

"There are ley lines of lyrium embedded in the streets, which is why the layout is so unique, all working as an old and forgotten mind control hex, building power and influence so they can plant the disasters and maintain enough lesser demons to use the Fade as a spy network. The more the prophecies come true, the more believers, the more demonic attention and influence, and Jordan was their mouthpiece, his death an unforseen but easily disguised accident."

"This is slander, he's a good man - a man of faith!" Kid snarled.

"He's a blood mage. My father," Roberto announced to the crowd, and every word was painful. "He's a betrayer who murdered my mother, and Andraste has at last allowed me to recognise him and remember the crimes I was weak and had forgotten."

Jordan stepped forward from where he'd been observing in silence, a beatific smile and wide arms displaying no concern.

"I'm right here, how can I be alive if not through the powers of the Maker? I'm afraid I don't remember you at all, my child, but you have my sympathy. Blood magic is a scourge."

"And it's your specialty," Hiraga interrupted from the door, pushing a shriveled figure in a wheelchair. The hall was completely silent save the sound of the wheels against the polished stone. "The resurrection was a show put on with magic. Behind the walls of Jordan's chamber vats of spelled blood churned in place of his own, and the glowstones in the walls were inscribed with old dwarvish runes to draw eyes away and install an illusion over his body."

"I don't feel too dead," Jordan replied, his smile tightening. 

Hiraga didn't respond, only pushed the body further into the light of the altar so they could all see the dry corpse flaking onto his stained Chantry robes. 

Roberto's grin sharpened and he lowered his arms. 

"He was using all of you," Roberto shouted to the hushed crowd. "The losses from the infirmary were fuelling him with their blood."

"That's you, Brother Julia, isn't it?" Hiraga asked quietly, the wheelchair abandoned as he approached the stage. "You're the only one who had full access to both the infirmary and Jordan, and had the adoration of the people as both."

Jordan's shape warped and flickered until Julia was standing in the dim light of the altar with the same sharp smile. Someone screamed, then the congregation was scattering in every direction, Goldman jumping into the rush and being lost in the noisy throng.

"Good work, brothers." Julia crooned over the fleeing masses. "This is going to accelerate my plans somewhat, but don't think you've ruined anything. It was always too easy here ever since Jordan summoned me, the delicious zealotry too fast-won to be wearing, but now there are people who want to work with me and give me the power and faith I deserve; people too greedy to realise I'm controlling them too."

"Is that what you want?" Roberto scoffed, staring him down. "Controlling people is a little pedestrian by demon standards."

"They desire so much when they're desperate, and nothing breeds desperation like a Blight. It's all about regaining what they've lost, and they're willing to make so many little moral sacrifices to have something solid to believe in. They don't care what it is they're believing in, only that it promises them a golden future. The circle is only to soften up, but all the decisions to stay are their own."

"And the bones of that woman on the mountainside, did she decide to stay?" 

Roberto spat the accusation, but Julian waved it off.

"She was a nobody, but the child she bore will be my perfect vessel, influenced in the womb to be tailor made. It'll be a shame to lose the liquidity I have now, but it'll be worth it."

His form shifted again, rising tall above them as his skin purpled like a bruise to match his eyes and horns pushed through the gentle waves of his bone white hair, which remained. It was only a half transformation, the shade of Julia still recognisable, Hiraga recoiling away from the taunt with disgust vying with anger and grief in his face. It only angered Roberto to see the smugness that settled onto the formerly pious and gentle face, his long tail sweeping content across the floor as he toyed with Hiraga's gentleness.

"It would have been easier to take Jordan's form full time once he'd taken his idiotic fall, but there's an echo of his boring, sleazy desire that clings even to the approximation of him. Julia is a blank slate, it allows me to enjoy the more elevated desires and zeal without tainting it."

"There's not going to be any more of that," Hiraga murmured, his eyes and mouth thin.

"We don't have to be enemies!" the demon laughed, sauntering loose-hipped towards Hiraga. "You two would make for pretty good partners for me. You have the blind faith and hope that is the most delicious to me, and you'd make the wait for my vessel go much faster.

"And I can make the time go smoother for you. There are arcane medicines, Josef. Healing magics you've no concept of; everything Ryota could ever need."

Hiraga recoiled, then advanced towards the smirking Julia.

"Never. He'll be healed, but it will be Andraste working through me that will make it happen, not you."

The demon looked to Roberto then, but he shook his head, strafing around to avoid his path.

"You've already tried this trick on me, remember? It didn't work."

The smirk left his purple skin and he straightened, arms widening to begin a spell, and they acted.

Roberto ran for the podium, pulling the cloth from it to reveal the central binding rune serving the entire town and bringing all his strength to bear, pulling it over to smash against the marble. At the same time Hiraga closed the distance between himself and Julia. Thrusting out with one palm he dove into the Templar training of his past, working with the straining circle as it fractured and broke down to force the shrieking demon back through the thin Veil to leave only an afterimage.

"That was close," Roberto sighed, brushing the marble chips from his sleeves. 

"It won't last," Hiraga noted, and they both looked uneasily around the empty Chantry.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked quietly, the nerves tightening his throat.

"What for?" Hiraga's head was cocked to the side and eyes shocked wide.

"For my father, for having a maleficar's blood in my veins."

Hiraga smiled at him, taking a hand in his own warm fingers. "You are not your father, Roberto. You're yourself, a child of Andraste, and that is all that will ever matter."

Roberto clutched tight at the slender hand, head bowed in the force of his relief and gratitude for his partner. Neither of them moved for a while, the only sound the quiet guttering of the torches in their sconces. 

Hiraga was completely fatigued by the time he went to visit Lauren in Val Royeaux, still waiting patiently for Seeker Saul to be able to see them for a debrief, but if the elf picked up on the smell of concentrator agent and spindleweed he was good enough not to mention it. 

Instead, he was consumed with spite as he laid down a terrible hand of cards. He'd bluffed his way through as well as was possible, but Hiraga was loathe to tell him that for all his intelligence there was a tremble to his eartip whenever he was getting upset and things not going his way. 

He laid down his winning hand with as much grace as he could sneak past his sated smile.

"Bad luck. I've not seen a hand that bad since I was back with the other recruits back in Ferelden, but they're all much worse at bluffing their way through."

"Shut up," Lauren huffed, crossing his arms and casting his attention back to the report that had been taken apart and scattered around him so he could get a better idea of the various runes and spells involved in the case.

"You could have brought something back for me this time, there's not been anything really interesting since those sending stones. Which, may I remind you, are never to appear in these reports."

"Roberto's still looking over some of the books, but once he's done we'll get the best ones to you. The last thing any of us need is you blowing up your room again."

"You try being stuck in here all day!" Lauren threw up his hands in frustration, the shackle on his ankle clinking with the movement. "I'm too rare a catch to be made tranquil, and too 'volatile' to return to the Dales, even if they did believe I've had my come to the Maker moment."

He angrily shuffled through the cards Hiraga dealt him with an indulgent look.

"I should have proven myself enough by now to be allowed out of the basement for a while, even if it is a fuss to disarm all those spells on the stairs keeping me in. How often have you been pulled out of a nasty situation thanks to something I've spelled or potion none of you shems are good enough to make up?"

Lauren continued on with his tirade as the hand ebbed and flowed, and Hiraga let his mind wander against the constant noise, the exhaustion pooling in his limbs as he relaxed. 

His attention was brought back to the game with a triumphant cry as Lauren declared a final, deserved victory.

"That'll teach you for thinking about your Roberto while we're playing," he crowed.

Hiraga shook his head back to the present.

"I wasn't, I was trying to remember the grocery list we'd decided on for tonight."

Lauren pinned him with a look who's meaning evaded him.

Saul welcomed them with open arms and a loud laugh that took a lot of the hesitation from Hiraga, Roberto as calm as ever beside him.

"Another job well done, you two! We could have done without the public spectacle, but that's another fake cult that won't be popping up again soon."

He sobered a little, hunching into steepled fingers.

"We're still going to keep an eye out for that Julia demon. Something like that isn't going to blink at a banishment, and we may have to send you two out with a Templar escort in the future so you don't get caught out again. We thought things were settling down again after the chaos of the last few years, but it may be a power vacuum instead. Be on your guard, you two."

"But, I'm getting ahead of myself," he chimed, bright again and the pair startled back into attention. "This one should be an easy enough job, since the Warden-Commander's apparently already cleared out the dragons. Our prodigal Brother Genitivi's finished his report and finally made it back across the mountains; he's claiming that he's found Andraste's ashes, and I'm sending you two off to verify it."

Hiraga raised an eyebrow to Roberto, who grinned back. 


End file.
